


Time Out of Time

by halfpastmorrow



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmorrow/pseuds/halfpastmorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus can't forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Out of Time

"You wish."

The voice, cocksure and arrogant, tweaked something inside Remus's head. The throaty chuckle that followed close on its heels sent him darting up the stairs from the kitchen, tea towel still in hand.

His heart beat a rapid tattoo. He knew who owned that voice.

He would have known it, even without the strange shift in time and the image that bobbed to the surface...

Sirius facing off with James on one of the lawns at Hogwarts, wand in hand and grin broad enough to eclipse the sun.

...as though all the years between now and then had been pulled taut and then released, forcing them to loop together.

Stark and immediate in a way things seldom were these days, the image marred the careful mirror-like calm of his mind like something surfacing, black and bloated, in a clear stretch of water.

Part of him - the rational part - knew the faint swell hope was ridiculous, yet he couldn't shake the notion that if he appeared anywhere it would be here in this house where the Black family ethos rippled ominously beneath the surface. Sirius was a Black with every fibre of his being; there could be no denying it. Remus had seen how the house had spun itself around him the last year, tormenting him as it ensnared him in a web of reminiscence and regret.

A short way up the stairs he shook his head and closed his eyes.

Damn it.

His steps slowed, and then stopped.

He had put it behind him, or should have at least. A season's turn ought to have been long enough. He had certainly had enough practice.

He stiffened, squaring his shoulders and preparing to turn when he heard a choked laugh and a voice saying, "Go on then, do your worst."

The kitchen staircase was long and narrow. Light spilled from the open doorway above, and by stretching, Remus could see a pair of boots in the rectangular patch of hall. Low heeled, black boots that buckled just above the ankle. He stumbled up a few steps, gaze scrolling upward until the boots devolved into long, lean legs and a well-worn jacket, black leather to match the boots.

He found that he was rubbing his fingers together, somehow knowing it would feel as soft as butter. The mere memory of sensation was so intense it felt as though it were real, and he stumbled up a few more steps, pulse throbbing loud in his ears.

He knew the man couldn't be Sirius, but at the same time, he couldn't force his brain past the impossibility. As he stood there staring, a blur of motion swept into view. A fuchsia capped blur, oddly enough, which he untangled as Tonks.

As soon as the man moved to intercept her, Remus knew him for who he was: Bill Weasley. Remus was somewhat surprised by that - Bill seldom remained at Grimmauld Place long once their meetings were over - but he had watched that particular stuttering sidestep often enough over the last few weeks.

They grappled for a few seconds until Tonks, catching a heel on the skirting, stumbled -- by the barest margin -- but it was enough to give Bill the leverage to drive her to the floor. When they came to rest, Tonks lay spread-eagled face down on the floor with Bill astride her hips.

"Where... where'd you learn how to do that?" she gasped, straining against the hands pinning her shoulders.

"Natural talent."

Remus would have considered the smile Bill gave her charming as long as he wasn't in Tonks's position, and insufferably smug if he were.

"Could have fooled me," she said shortly, appearing to share the latter sentiment. "You never showed it in school. Something you want to tell me?"

"Never underestimate a Weasley," Bill quipped back at her, and Remus suppressed the urge to wince as he followed it up with a wink. "You learn a lot having five brothers, the vast majority of it unacceptable in polite society."

"I suppose it never occurred to you to use it that time you got flattened by Stewart Jarvis after you caught him sneaking into the Gryffindor common room."

"Perhaps I've learned a thing or two more since then," Bill said, rolling off her with a chuckle. Something he would not have done if he had taken a good look at her face. Tonks's tone might have been flip, but the snap in her eyes promised trouble for someone. Bill might think this was a game, but Tonks quite obviously did not. Remus wouldn't have been in Bill's shoes for galleons.

There was a rustle of motion, and in a trice she had Bill stretched out flat on the tiles, her wand up under his chin. "You've been holding out on me."

As Bill spread his hands in surrender, Remus felt again the elastic snap of time, forcibly struck by another reminder of his misspent youth. The faux-innocent expression on Bill's face was an exact mirror of the one that had appeared on Sirius's face the time he had been cornered by Lily before James's bachelor party. She had wanted him to promise that James would be returned with his hair and eyebrows untouched. Sirius had almost been too eager to agree.

Instead of hair the colour of a volcanic sunrise or missing eyebrows, James had been sporting a rather magnificent pair of breasts beneath his robes when they had dropped him off, insensate, at four the next morning. Lily hadn't been expecting that. She had been entirely too Muggle in her thinking at times, he thought, recalling her outrage fondly.

He laughed despite the pang the memory gave him, and two heads turned in his direction.

"Remus, something wrong?" That was Tonks, who sounded bemused for some reason. The fog of memory dissipated, and he realised what a strange picture he must make standing midway up the stairs and staring at them with a daft smile on his face.

"No. No, fine. I'm fine," he said quickly.

"Well, I could use a little help here," Bill said when Tonks turned her attention back to him, not quite certain, by the sound of things, just how much trouble he was in.

Had Lily been the one so affronted, it would have been worth at least a dozen hidden charms inexplicably turning James blue when he added salt to his eggs on Wednesday mornings, or making Sirius's transfiguration textbook shriek for McGonagall to 'for Merlin's sake, save me' when opened during class.

But this was another life, with Tonks glaring at him and saying, "Don't you dare," and Remus wasn't sure if that made things better or worse.

"Wouldn't dream of it." It was easy to be amused by them. Easy too for him to slip into the role he had played when having a foot-long Potions essay assigned the Friday before a Hogsmeade weekend had been life's biggest disappointment. "Besides, the lessons from Kingsley should see him right," he said, affecting his mildest voice.

Tonks glared at Bill, clearly outraged. "You didn't tell me that."

He felt twenty years melt away, watching Bill slump to the floor with a groan.

Tonks muttered a few choice oaths, and Bill laughed openly at her despite his own predicament.

"What would your mother say?"

"'Bout the same as yours when I tell her you've been assaulting women under false pretences," Tonks retorted, chin bulging pugnaciously.

"No worse than Moody, then, once he finds out you've forgotten his number one rule."

Tonks started at that. "Damn it. I'm late," she said, throwing a glance at the cheerful clock Molly Weasley had hung in the hall in an attempt to counter the unrelieved gloom after the portrait of Mrs Black had finally been banished. "Should have relieved Moody ten minutes ago."

She hustled to her feet, and Bill propped himself up on his elbows, mouth already open.

"Don't you say anything," Tonks told him.

"Would I?" Bill asked.

She snatched her cloak off the end of the banister, flung it over her shoulders, flashed Remus a parting smile, and disappeared from view.

He heard the door open, and Tonks's voice once more, low and more sombre than usual, saying, "Take care of yourself, all right."

Bill nodded once, slowly, then the door banged shut. There was something tight and uncomfortable on his face, and Remus turned, heading back down the stairs before it could be aimed in his direction.

When he reached the kitchen, he paused in the doorway, considering the monogrammed tea towel in his hand and the remains of their tea on the table, then reached for Dung's knocked-off bottle of firewhisky instead.

It wasn't a good idea, of that he was certain. He had been assailed by ghosts all day; it was foolish to provide them assistance.

He summoned the nearest glass, sat on the edge of the table amidst stacked plates of congealed gravy, and drank. And knew he was in trouble when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Mind if I join you?" Bill stood at the head of the table, a tentative hand on the back of the chair. Whatever Remus had seen on Bill's face was gone now.

Remus pushed the bottle toward him. "Help yourself."

A silence followed, filled only by the splash and gurgle of Bill pouring his drink. The faint and familiar scent of leather swelled and then retreated as Bill moved away.

"I never would have considered you a drinker," Bill said, settling against the sink.

"I'm not," Remus agreed. At Bill's raised eyebrow, he nodded at a further two bottles sitting tidily on the dresser. "Apparently Mundungus thinks I should be. This is the third bottle he's left in as many weeks."

"Why tonight then?"

Remus dragged the bottle closer and splashed out little more firewhisky. "This house, sometimes it makes you..."

He curled his fingers around the cool glass. Residing at Grimmauld Place amplified both the presence and absence of his friends in a way he wasn't sure it was possible to explain.

"It must be difficult being here without... being here alone."

Remus sighed. Bill was trying, but that was the thing: no one talked about Sirius. The same way no one had talked about James and Lily, sparing themselves discomfort as though they could ignore their pain or guilt by ignoring their deaths.

Which left him alone with his memories.

He sipped his drink, considering his answer carefully. He didn't want people to worry, or to be talked about. "Someone needs to be here," he said, at last. "There's a lot to do. And people visit. Your mother, for example, brings leftovers most days. And your brothers were by just last week."

Bill made a strange hiccoughing noise. From the colour of his face, it appeared Remus was lucky not to be wearing his mouthful. "The twins have been visiting you," Bill asked in a rasping voice, when he regained control.

"They brought me some lobalug venom for the Bundimun infestation in the conservatory. Not strictly legal, but more effective than the usual remedies. Hopefully, it'll get rid of them for good this time. And George helped me lift that nightwalker curse from the third tread of the attic stairs."

Bill's chuckle caught him by surprise. "Fred and George volunteering to do cleaning, now I've heard everything. What did it cost you, the family silver?"

The corner of Remus's mouth lifted. "Not as such. They collected some of the Bunidmuns. For experimental purposes, I believe."

Bill winked at him. "Mum's the word then."

Remus was just starting to relax when Bill fixed his eyes on him in a way that made him suddenly uncomfortable. "You know, if it's curses you need help with, I'd be happy to help."

Trying to evade that intent gaze, Remus found himself staring at Bill's throat as he tipped his head back and sipped at his drink. His eyes seemed to slide up and down the pale length with the motion of Bill's adam's apple. The swallow seemed deliberate and overlong.

Now even more ill at ease, Remus clutched at his glass. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not as it happens. She left me." That look was back on Bill's face.

Remus took a gulp of his drink, feeling the burn this time, and waited.

"The twins subjected her to one too many experimental charms, I think."

Bill laughed, but a hint of something Remus had seen in the mirror all too often of late flitted across his face and the pieces clicked into place.

It was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. "Go home, Bill."

Bill paused, glass halfway to his mouth. "Been trying to avoid it, actually." It was an attempt at joviality by the sound of things, and disarming in its own way, but there was a wry sort of twist to his mouth.

Remus drained his glass and pushed up from the table. "Then go pay a visit to your mother." He plucked the glass from Bill's hand, settling it inside his own, and leaned past him to set them in the sink. "I'm sure she'd love to..."

"Remus," Bill said in a low voice, his hand encircling Remus's wrist. "I've no interest in discussing this with my mother."

Remus was close enough to smell the firewhisky on his breath. Too close, but the hand on his wrist kept him from pulling away.

And then time shifted between one moment and another like a record skipping a beat, and he found himself pushing Bill back against the counter, a double fistful of that jacket feeling as soft as he remembered, the air in his nostrils suddenly thick with the scent of leather.

Remus arched into the offered kiss. It was soft and uncertain, their bodies pressing slowly together, and Bill's hands cradled him in the small of his back as though he was made of spun glass. Not quite right, yet somehow more than the sum of its parts, making him yearn for something more.

With a fleeting thought about pulling away, he broke the kiss. As if sensing this hesitation, however, Bill surged against him, sending them reeling into the large, central table.

The hunger in his next kiss brooked no further opposition. Awkwardness gave way before the intensity, and Remus felt his body rouse, hips rolling forward of their own accord, seeking friction and an answering hardness. Lips trailed along his jaw line and down his neck, and he gasped against an ear when a hand squeezed his cock.

Everything felt slightly surreal. Each time his eyes drifted shut in pleasure Remus lost track of where he was and who he was with. He scrabbled at the buttons of Bill's shirt, needing the reassurance of skin, and a beat or two later Bill followed suit.

Two sets of hands made short work of their buttons, and Remus fell back against the table at a gentle touch to his shoulder. Anticipation skittered through his body as fingers dragged across his skin pushing his robes aside. Bill stood above him, naked from throat to groin, eyes marking the path of his hands before he followed him down.

A few fine strands of hair caught the fingers Remus stroked along the nape of Bill's neck, and he reached around to loosen the thong holding the rest at bay. The sleek mass fell over his hands, melding with other sensations: the unyielding table beneath his back, the lean body pressing him down and the musty scent of old leather. It might have been a lifetime ago, Sirius's final 'Fuck you' to the House of Black, or just a year ago.

But it wasn't.

And the tongue sliding along his clavicle belonged to no phantom.

He reached down into the heat building between them, fingers skating over humid skin. He enclosed both shafts in his hand. Bill's hips had caught a rhythm now, driving them over and over through the circle of his hand. Remus, not having the leverage to match him, simply let the sensation flood him, filling him up to the brim and then over.

On overload, his body jerked and sputtered to smaller ripples of pleasure as Bill continued to thrust through his increasingly slippery fist. Remus saw strain on his face as if he were striving for something out of his reach. His neck arched tight with what could be pain. Remus tucked his face into the hollow of Bill's throat when he started to shudder, afraid that his shaking might signal release of a different kind.

Bill remained still on top of him for what seemed like an age, breath slowing. His back had long since begun to complain, and he had to stretch it out carefully, wincing, before beginning the business of clean up.

"I meant what I said earlier," Bill said, as he closed his trousers.

Unable to discern what he meant, Remus looked up to enquire.

Bill leaned against the sink, once more in no hurry, it seemed, to finish dressing. "If you need any help, and not just with curses, you will let me know."

"Thinking of starting a business, are you?" he asked, amused. "Weasley's Household Services."

"Only for select clients," Bill said, the look on his face intended to inflame. It went well with the dishevelled state of his clothing and the languid way he reclined against the sink, but all too soon turned sheepish.

Remus laughed once and then laughed again, having a new memory to file away.


End file.
